Never

by Lulu Pratt

  As I adjust to this new fullness, I’m rewarded by Andrew’s guttural groan.

  “Shit, baby,” he swears throatily, “you feel fucking amazing.”

  I wind my hips in a circular motion and stimulate my engorged clit, needing to feel every inch of his throbbing length. The hair covering his pelvic area adds to the delectable friction, drawing a contented sigh from my lips.

  Reaching back, I brace my hands around his ankles as I begin bouncing up and down with a fervor I can’t explain. But the reckless feeling is becoming familiar now. It’s never too far away whenever I’m within reach of him.

  He ignites a fearless side of me that I never knew existed.

  Hot and sticky, I moan as I slide over him chasing the orgasm that’s building deep in the pit of my stomach.

  The torture playing across Andrew’s face as my tight walls clench all around him spurs me on.

  I open my mouth to announce my impending climax, but I don’t get the chance.

  Without a word, Andrew rolls us over and I find myself on my back.

  Thirty-four

  LILAH

  My body instantly mourns the loss of his cock filling me.

  I’ve never been a beggar but I’m on the brink of pleading with him when Andrew’s hand comes down on my thighs.

  Shoving my legs open, he nudges my swollen opening teasingly, driving me insane. When I lift my hips to close the excruciating gap between us, he moves back at just the right time, denying me the thing I want most.

  His cock.

  That damn smirk is on his face and I could scream.

  He chooses now to play games?

  Inadvertently, my lips form into a pout as he brushes the head of his length against my needy clit.

  “You’re cute when you pout, Cupcake.”

  I roll my eyes and want to give him the finger, but he moves unexpectedly again and flips me onto my stomach. The wind is knocked out of me at the sudden movement.

  As soon as I make contact with the sheet, his hands are at my hips pulling me back to his waiting dick.

  He pushes inside without any resistance from my slippery walls. My hands reach out to grasp the sheets as he begins pumping into me with reckless abandon.

  I writhe underneath him, my body twisting against the sheet in an attempt to escape the pleasurable assault but Andrew reigns supreme when he stills my hips with one skillfully placed hand.

  His cock fills me and then vanishes before he pushes back inside again, forcing a moan from my throat.

  As my head snaps back, I catch a glimpse of the mess we’ve already made. The red and black paint is smeared from one corner of the sheet to the next, evidence of our wild lovemaking.

  I’ve never seen anything like it, and the erotic masterpiece fills me with more desire.

  I never want this to end.

  Andrew’s treatment is fast and hard, his long cock brushing against my nub, providing the perfect amount of friction with each movement.

  I’m on the brink of coming.

  How does he make me feel this way so easily?

  He has complete and total control over my body. I’m powerless to fight the pleasure he gives me and I don’t want to.

  It feels so good. Too good.

  The speed and intensity of his strokes intensifies, and my walls tighten around him possessively to deepen the connection.

  Behind me, Andrew stiffens just as a blinding wave of pleasure crashes into me, pushing me over the edge. He jerks uncontrollably before he spills his seed into me. The carnal groan that escapes him is filled with satisfaction.

  I moan and writhe as the orgasm consumes my body.

  I try to regain control of my senses. I don’t think I’ve ever come this hard in my life and it almost scares me.

  We shudder against each other for what feels like eternity until our breathing returns to normal. I feel myself succumbing to the need for sleep when he pulls out of me and gathers me in his arms.

  This time his embrace is gentle. Like I’m a piece of porcelain that he doesn’t want to break.

  I feel safe and adored as he moves in the direction of the staircase, leaving the mess we made behind.

  I have no idea where he finds the energy to climb the stairs leading to his suite of rooms, but he does. His hard muscles shift underneath me, reminding me of his strength.

  Andrew doesn’t stop walking until we’re in the bathroom and he sets me on my feet inside his massive walk-in shower.

  He turns on the water and makes sure the temperature is perfect before turning the knob that controls the rainfall feature.

  The warm water revives me enough to regain my strength.

  I’d forgotten all about the paint in my sleepy haze but now I look down at the streaks of red sliding from my body and to the floor of the shower. The tinted water swirls before disappearing down the drain.

  Andrew steps into the shower and grabs a sponge from the wall before lathering it with a generous squeeze from his bottle of body wash. A citrusy smell permeates the air around us. It smells like him and I smile.

  Instead of using the sponge to scrub his body, he turns to me and starts washing me as I try to clear the fog in my mind.

  I swear I didn’t drink anything except Diet Coke at the theater tonight but I feel hammered, completely wasted from the events that just took place in his studio.

  How the hell will I ever recover from this?

  My guess is that he doesn’t want me to. He wants to be burned so deep into my memory that I’m ruined for anybody else except him. It had been his personal way of branding me.

  And goddammit, it worked.

  Gently, Andrew continues washing me until there’s no more paint on my body. Next, he turns me around to wash my hair.

  I’m thankful we’re in the steaming shower when tears prick my eyes. I feel utterly cherished in this moment and I wonder if that was his intent.

  No other man has made me feel this way, and I’m secure in the knowledge that I’m belong to him. Completely.

  When he instructs me to tilt my head back to rinse, I follow his command and let the water soothe my scalp.

  Andrew starts cleaning himself and I turn around to watch, transfixed by the sight. As the black paint leaves his skin, my eyes trail down his strong legs as their golden bronze color is revealed.

  His dick is still semi-hard in the wake of what we did and staring at it only makes my mouth water. The aching between my thighs reminds me that he just left his mark there.

  But I don’t care. I could take him again right now.

  “See something you like?” he asks me teasingly, drawing my attention away from his lower half and back to his beautiful face.

  He’s grinning at me as he coats his body in soap, his playfulness making him appear almost boyish. A warm feeling takes residence in my chest, making it hard to swallow.

  But I manage a lazy smile before I pull open the door to make my escape.

  Something has changed tonight and I can’t even pinpoint it because I’m not thinking with a clear head right now.

  Wrapping a heated towel around my body, I force myself to focus clearing the lingering fog in my brain.

  What has happened to me?

  I’ll be the first to admit that it’s been a rocky week and my unsettled state could be a result of that.

  But only partially.

  There’s another piece of this puzzle that I’m determined to lock in place.

  It started at the theater right after I let those teenagers have it for harassing that woman.

  By the end of my tirade, I was actually feeling a little embarrassed for the way I blew up. It isn’t like me to be so rash in public. But I’d been on edge since returning from the Hamptons and their behavior was just the straw that broke the camel’s back.

  I’d fully expected Andrew to be ashamed of my behavior but the look in his eyes when he walked up to me conveyed the complete opposite message.

  His cobalt gaze was filled with some
thing akin to pride and another emotion that I can’t name just yet, but it was there. And it had been enough to make hope swell in my chest.

  Hope that made me envision a future with a man I was never supposed to have a personal relationship with, let alone fall in love with.

  Thirty-five

  LILAH

  “What do you mean you haven’t told him yet about his estranged brother being your boss?”

  Charli’s voice is too loud as we shift into downward dog in a studio full of sweaty bodies.

  “I don’t know how,” I puff out, balancing myself on my hands and feet.

  I’m not a fan of yoga as it is. But I absolutely hate hot yoga. How I let Charli talk me into it, I will never know. Even with her promise of wine afterwards, I’m questioning my sanity.

  The participants around us are moving fluidly, bending like pretzels and it’s all I can do not to fall flat on my ass. We won’t talk about the close calls I’ve already had.

  Beside me, Charli expertly twists her lithe body into the next pose the instructor calls out. As I try to mirror her stance, she shoots me a disbelieving stare.

  “What do you mean you don’t know how?” she hisses.

  “It doesn’t exactly come up in a normal conversation, Charli,” I tell her, fighting to hold my balance.

  How the hell do people find this enjoyable?

  “You make it come up!” she exclaims even louder than before. “What the hell, Lilah? Tell me you understand that this situation is a ticking time bomb. He’s bound to find out!”

  Of course I already know this. But hearing it aloud only causes the panic seizing my chest to grow to astronomical levels.

  So much for a relaxing yoga class.

  I feel more on edge now than I did when I arrived.

  When I catch an irritated glance from one of the students in front of us, I give a contrite look in return and turn to Charli.

  “Let’s stick a pin in this conversation,” I suggest, halfway relieved that I get a few extra minutes to ignore the magnitude of my problems.

  At the end of class, we wipe down our mats and grab our water bottles before heading outside. The sun has just disappeared beneath the horizon and the humid air from earlier is no longer stifling.

  Trapped in the confines of Charli’s Range Rover, I can no longer escape her interrogation.

  “Lilah,” she starts with a solemn sigh. “I love you. I really do.”

  I wait for the other shoe to drop, because I know it’s coming. Whenever she opens a conversation like that, I know a nice dose of tough love is sure to follow.

  Groaning, I slump in the passenger seat and stare at the people still filing out of the yoga studio.

  “I know I’m asking for trouble. Believe me, I do. But it’s easier said than done, Charli. I was blindsided.”

  If I confront Edward and tell him that I want out, I’m not going to get the funding for my project. Plain and simple. It makes my skin crawl to think that I could have done this all in vain.

  “Well, how do you think Andrew’s going to feel when he finds out? Because trust me, it’s going to happen,” she tells me matter-of-factly, her voice breaking into my thoughts.

  Bile begins rising in my throat at her words. The thought of losing Andrew is too much to bear. He’s the only bright spot in my days and if he isn’t around I don’t know what I’ll do without him.

  Massaging the tension in my stomach away with my hands, I avoid Charli’s probing gaze like the plague.

  “Oh my God,” she says studying my actions. “Are you pregnant?!”

  Eyes bulging, I look at her like she’s grown two extra heads. Even though it’s just the two of us, I still think her voice is too damn loud.

  “No!” My hand falls away from my tummy.

  Narrowing her eyes at me, she still looks suspicious.

  “Then what is it?” she poses. “What’s holding you back from being completely open with him about this? Don’t you think he deserves it?”

  “Of course I do,” I sigh. “It’s just complicated.”

  “How so? You’re not pregnant. So how much messier could it get?” she probes with a stern look on her face.

  Shrugging, I fail to voice an answer so she goes on.

  “You’re a kindergarten teacher posing as a financial advisor and working for his brother. A brother he hasn’t spoken to in years. A brother who also won’t tell you why he’s so obsessed with having his estranged brother as a client. Did I miss anything?”

  Charli watches me expectantly as I continue to fidget in my seat like a teenager under their parents’ scrutinizing gazes.

  Knots form in my stomach as I open my mouth to tell her my secret.

  “I’m in love with him.”

  Charli’s reaction isn’t what I expect. Unblinking, she gawks at me like I’m the one with three heads now. Then she bursts out laughing.

  “Well, duh. Anybody could tell you that just looking at you from a mile away.”

  Feeling exposed, I look at her in shock.

  “What are you talking about? These feelings are new.”

  Charli shakes her head knowingly. “Maybe you’re just putting a name on them but you’ve been in love with him for quite some time.”

  Still reeling from her dismissive response, I purse my lips and pout, “Elaborate.”

  “Whenever you two are in the same room, it bounces off you in waves and smacks everyone in the face. Hell, it’s coming off you now and he’s not even around!”

  Gaping at her, I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

  I want to ask her how she’s so sure, but she’s still talking.

  “Don’t forget, I’m your best friend. I’ve seen you through your puppy love phase with Mason and up to that last jerk you dated whose name we won’t mention.”

  She’s talking about my ex from two years ago. What a scumbucket. He cheated on me every second of our relationship and I was crazy enough to be heartbroken over it.

  “The point is,” my best friend continues. “I know what love looks like on you, and you’re deep in it right now. I think this is the worst case yet,” she summates.

  I don’t have a problem admitting she’s right about that one. I’ve never felt this before. How did I go from rolling my eyes at Andrew’s bold advances to daydreaming about his phone calls?

  It’s ridiculous how much I miss him when he’s not around. I barely even sleep at my place these days. It’s like I’ve become dependent on him without even realizing it.

  Just his presence is comforting and that’s how I know I’m in a hell of a lot deeper than I bargained for.

  “You being in love with him is even more reason to be honest with him before he finds out from another source. You won’t be able to hide the fact that you’re an elementary teacher forever.”

  As she finally starts the car.

  “Doesn’t it bother you that you can’t share Thriving Together with him?” She interrogates, name dropping the project I’ve spent most of my summer trying to secure funds for.

  Damn it, she’s right.

  “Look at it this way,” she says putting the truck in reverse. “Andrew is probably falling in love with you, too. But you’re only allowing him to experience a side of you that isn’t completely true. How would you feel if someone knowingly let you fall in love with a lie?”

  Thirty-six

  ANDREW

  Two days after our messy encounter, I’m back in the basement. I finally have time to cut and stretch the canvas over a wooden frame I constructed using scraps from my studio.

  Picking up the canvas, I walk over to my work table and spread it out evenly across the metal surface.

  With my lamp shining down on it, I get a good look at it. Black and red splatters cover the cloth material. The colors swirl together near the center but the lines in the furthest corners are distinctly red.

  With a smirk, I recall the way Lilah clenched the sheet as I took her from behind. She was
squirming like a lover possessed in order to get away from my pounding. But there was no escape.

  The artwork in front of me is very different from the paintings I usually create. Body paint isn’t my preferred medium.

  I briefly debate whether to include this in my upcoming show. Every time I look at it, my cock stirs as memories from that night come flooding in.

  Do I really want to invite others to get a glimpse of something so personal? I feel like I’d inadvertently be sharing a piece of Lilah with my audience and my possessive instincts kick.

  I want her to myself.

  For the next few minutes, I work efficiently, using the staple gun to clamp the canvas in place against the wood.

  Just as I flip the painting over to study the finished product, I hear footsteps on the staircase across the basement.

  When I look up, my housekeeper Gladys is standing near me.

  “Mr. Knight, what would you like for dinner tonight?”

  It isn’t until she asks that I realize I’m even hungry. I haven’t eaten since noon, when I took lunch to Lilah’s office. A quick look at my watch lets me know that it’s going on seven now.

  Lilah should be arriving soon. She said she’d be over after going to yoga with Charli. I can’t remember the last time she slept at her place.

  With that in mind, I get a clever idea that I’ll only be able to pull off with Gladys’ help.

  ***

  Cooking isn’t as easy as Gladys makes it look. I’m seriously doubting my bright idea to cook for Lilah. Honestly, I want to give up and order food. But Gladys would never let me hear the end of it.

  And neither would Lilah if she ever found out.

  So, I have no choice but to stick it out while Gladys patiently coaches me through the steps of making pesto pasta, one of Lilah’s favorite dishes.

  We’re on our second pot of pasta thanks to me.

  How the hell was I supposed to know you needed to stir it occasionally to prevent it from burning and sticking to the bottom of the pan?

  I know Gladys is fed up when she removes the shrimp from the heat and gently suggests I find something else to do.

  “Why don’t you season the green beans?” She says throwing me a bone. “I can take it from here.”